


The Eighth Year

by Amuly



Series: Gwil's Guide to Growing Up Torchwood [9]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a seven-year-old boy falls through the Rift, Ianto and Jack decide to adopt him. This is the story of his life at Torchwood.<b></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwil's given his first go at helping field a mission from the Hub. Things don't go entirely well.

 

Gwil grinned as he stood next to Tad, watching the computer screens as a mission unfolded before them. “It's... twenty feet to your... left?” Gwil instructed. When Dad and Uncle Mickey started off in that direction, Gwil glanced down at the readings and cursed. “Wait, no, damn it. Your right. Sorry.”

“Don't curse,” Tad grumbled.

Gwil rolled his eyes. “Sorry. 'Darn' it. Other direction.” He watched as Dad and Uncle Mickey went to their right, then glanced down at the readings again. “Yeah, that's it.”

Tad did something on the other computer, pulling up a new screen. Gwil watched him work. “That's the interior CCTV?” he asked, stepping closer.

Tad nodded. “Yup. Did you see how I pulled it up?”

Gwil shook his head. Tad's fingers moved so fast over the keys and mouse sometimes it was impossible to tell what he had done. And he had all the shortcuts worked out, while Gwil was still just learning the long way 'round.

Tad pointed at an icon on the screen. “CCTV database.” Gwil nodded. He knew that much. “Open it, type in the address or intersection you want to see.”

Gwil frowned, gesturing at the screen. “I know _that_. But you did something else. Something that pulled up the inside of the building without typing in the address.”

Tad nodded. “That's a short cut. We've got this CCTV cam already pulled up over here,” Tad pointed at the exterior shot of the building Dad and Uncle Mickey had just gone into, “so I can tell the computer to pull up a location starting with that one. I typed in thirty feet northeast from the zero location, which I defined as the CCTV we already have pulled up.” Pausing, Tad considered the screen in front of him, hands on his hips. “It's good for when you might not know the address of where the chase is heading. Instead of having to have a map pulled up as well, and having to translate addresses from that to the CCTV database, you can just tell the cams to keep moving north or south or whatever.” He turned to Gwil. “Got it?”

Gwil nodded decisively. “Yes.” His brow was furrowed as he watched Tad turn back to the monitors.

“Okay, so what do you do next?”

Tad moved back from the monitors and Gwil stepped into the space he left vacant, eyes flickering over the different screens. “Okay.” Gwil took a breath, hands hovering over two different keyboards. “Okay. So then,” he glanced at the monitor showing the Rift read-outs. “Stop!” he shouted suddenly. On screen, Uncle Mickey and Dad stopped walking immediately. Gwil hesitated, restraining himself from looking back at his tad for reassurance. He could figure this out. “Um... you're on top of it. Where you are is where the Rift reading's coming from. So...”

On screen, Uncle Mickey and Dad visibly glanced around. “Don't see anything, champ,” Dad's voice came over the comms.

Tad spoke up from behind Gwil. “So. What does that mean?”

Gwil thought, eyebrows drawn tight above his eyes. “Okay. So it could be invisible...” On screen Uncle Mickey kicked vaguely about, feeling with feet and hands for anything invisible. Dad stayed still, arms loose and relaxed at his sides: Gwil suspected he had already figured whatever it was out.

“Oh!” Inspiration flashed across Gwil's mind. “I don't have the z axis pulled up. Wait a sec.”

Clicking on the Rift monitor – much slower than Tad and  _impossibly_ slower than Auntie Tosh – Gwil scrolled through the screen until he reached the line of code he needed. He typed a command into the line, and a new set of coordinates sprang up. Gwil grinned triumphantly. “It's above you!” he told Dad and Uncle Mickey. “Uh... thirty feet. So,” finally giving in, he glanced back at Tad for reassurance. “Second story?”

“Maybe,” Tad replied. He nodded at the monitors. “They should always check the different floors as they work their way up, even if you're _sure_ it's on the roof or something. Don't need any surprises preventing them from getting back down.”

Gwil nodded. “Okay. So, second floor. And then maybe third.”

Gwil and Tad watched as Dad and Uncle Mickey walked slowly up the stairs to the building, guns drawn in front of them and torches on. 

Abruptly, a large alien rose up in front of the two men, startling Gwil. Even though he was safe behind the screen of the Hub monitors, Gwil jumped back, just for a second. He bumped into Tad, who was staring impassively down at the monitors. “Well?” Tad prodded. “What next?”

Scrambling, Gwil brought up the Archive databases on another, free monitor, glancing all the while at the CCTV cam showing Dad and Uncle Mickey circling the alien. Their movements were calm and collected, but their eyes remained trained on the large alien, guns steady in front of them. 

“Um... um...” Gwil's fingers flew over the keyboards. “Six arms, two legs, puts it possibly under the arachnid classification. General arachnid weaknesses are eyes and thorax...” Gwil glanced back at the cam again, trying to discern more details about the creature. “Looks like it might have an exoskeleton of some sort, so maybe insectoid. I'll pull up those too and-”

Tad cut him off. “Dead.”

Gwil's eyes jerked away from the Archive screens and back to the CCTV ones as he watched the alien breathe fire on Uncle Mickey and Dad. The hologram flickered and ended, leaving the two men standing in the warehouse looking bemused.

“ _Fuck_!” Yanking his comm out, Gwil threw it hard across the Hub. Myfanwy screeched and dove after it, before realizing it wasn't anything good to eat and leaving it be. 

“Gwil! Language!”

Squeezing his hands tight in his hair, Gwil closed his eyes and tried to calm down. How the  _hell_ had he missed that? A fire-breather? So that meant it wasn't an insect  _or_ an arachnid: it was a fucking  _lizard_ ? But... it had six to eight limbs!

Slowly Gwil opened his eyes, taking deep breaths in an effort to control his temper. He turned to Tad, who was looking down at him with eyebrows raised. “Well?”

“Sorry,” Gwil grumbled. “About the cursing. But...” Gwil gestured at the monitors, “what did I do wrong? How'd it be a _lizard_?”

Pressing a hand significantly to his comms, Tad spoke to Dad. “Tell him, Dad: did it have an exoskeleton?” 

Over the CCTV feed, Gwil could see Dad shake his head. “Scales.”

Uncle Mickey threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Dead giveaway, that is.”

Gwil threw his hands out in front of him, at the CCTV screen. “But... how am I supposed to be able to see that?! The resolution isn't good enough to tell the difference between scales and exoskeleton!”

Tad quirked and eyebrow. “But Dad and Mickey could see it, couldn't they?”

_Oh_ . Gwil hung his head. “I'm supposed to have better communication. Right,” he mumbled. Glancing up a little bit shamefully, he nodded over to where he had thrown his earpiece. “Guess I shouldn't have thrown it across the Hub?”

Tad smirked. “Probably not.”

Gwil squared his shoulders. “Okay. I'll remember that.” Rushing across the Hub, he found his earpiece balanced on the metal grating and pushed it back into his ear. “Can we go again, then?” he asked, eager. 

As he hurried back over the monitoring station, he saw Tad sigh and run a hand through his hair. Into the comm he mumbled: “No discouraging him, is there, Jack?”

Dad just laughed over the comm line. Gwil felt a surge of pride at the sound of his dad's laughter, and moved quickly to take his place back in front of the monitors. He'd do better this time.    
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwil gets a hold of a stray dog and wants to keep it. Jack has a more Torchwood-style solution.

“I think it's working: keeping him busy,” Jack mused.

Jack and Ianto were playing footsie under the kitchen table as they talked. Well, Jack was playing footsie: Ianto was pretending to ignore him. But Jack knew better. Every once in a while, when he would drag his big toe over Ianto's ankle, a smile would quirk at the corners of Ianto's mouth, even as he tried to tamp it back down.

“I still think it's a mistake,” Ianto grumbled as he tapped his pen on a pile of forms. He glanced up when Jack tapped his foot forcefully against his ankle. Setting down the pen, Ianto sighed and sat back. “The more we let him do around the Hub, the more of a taste he's going to get for Torchwood work.”

Jack laughed. “He's already got a taste for it: it's too late for that. Now, we just need to keep him satisfied with office and back-up work until he's old enough to handle field work. That way we don't get a repeat of his birthday.”

Ianto groaned and held his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table. “How did this happen? He could have been a lawyer or a doctor or a... an office worker! Instead...” Ianto looked despondently up at Jack. “Instead, he wants to work for Torchwood.”

Resting his foot for a moment, Jack leaned across the table and rested his hand over Ianto's. “Hey. That started the moment the Rift took him and deposited him on our doorstep.”

“Alleyway,” Ianto corrected.

“Now,” Jack continued, ignoring him, “the most we can do is keep him safe. Which is _exactly_ what we're doing, letting him work at the Hub.”

“Hmm.” Ianto looked unimpressed, but he turned his hand over and squeezed Jack's tightly before letting go and picking his pen back up. 

“Dad!” The front door swung open, distracting both men from their conversation. Jack stood up and headed over, while Ianto stayed behind and continued to look over his paperwork. Jack wasn't entirely sure what it was Ianto was working on, but he had been told – by both Ianto _and_ Gwil – that it was very important Archive work. Jack took his men's word for it.

“What's up, cha-” Jack cut himself off. In the atrium stood Gwil. Next to him, stood a big, shaggy, yellow dog. Jack's eyes widened. His first thought was _Ianto's_ not _going to be amused._ “Who's your friend?”

Behind him, Jack heard Ianto hurrying out of the kitchen and stopping short behind him.

“This better be a class pet,” he grumbled.

Gwil's big blue eyes stared up at the two of them, one hand stroking the dog's head. Jack crossed his arms. He might be a sucker for big blue eyes – especially one man's in particular, as of late – but that wasn't going to work on him. Plus he was pretty sure Ianto would kill him if he didn't stand firm on this. “His name's Bailey. He was Stephen's. But he can't keep him, anymore. Can I?”

“Absolutely not.”

Jack turned to Ianto, wincing at his cold tone. In return, Ianto shot him a  _look_ that brooked no argument. Jack turned back to Gwil, sighing. “No can do. Dogs are a lot of work, and we just can't take care of one.” Uncrossing his arms, he stepped closer to Gwil and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry.”

Gwil shrugged the hand off, pouting rather dramatically in Jack's opinion. “Come  _on_ . I can take care of him! I'm home normal hours, even if you both aren't! Well,” Gwil shrugged one shoulder morosely, “ _most_ of the time.”

Ianto stepped forward, level with Jack. “You have plenty of pets already. Myfanwy, Janet, and a whole host of other aliens around the Hub you can take care of if you really want to have a pet.”

Gwil stroked a hand through Bailey's hair and stared down at him. “But... he needs a home.”

Jack felt his heart melt, just a tiny bit. The dog  _was_ a big ball of fluff and love, that much was obvious in the way he leaned his giant head against Gwil's waist as the boy stroked it. He looked over at Ianto, who glared at him again. Jack sighed. It  _was_ impractical, he knew. But he supposed he had a soft spot for orphans.

“Sorry,” Jack apologized again. “We can keep him until we find a new home for him, but he _does_ have to leave. We just can't take care of him.”

Grabbing Bailey's collar, Gwil pushed past his parents. “This  _sucks_ !” he grumbled.

“Language!” Ianto shouted after him. Both men spun around as Gwil hurried to his room. 

“Bloody Torchwood!” Gwil shouted back, just as he slammed his door shut.

Jack turned to Ianto, to find him staring back in what appeared to be hurt. “I don't  _want_ to always have to say no,” he sighed.

“I know,” Jack consoled him with a hand on his back. “But you're right: there's no way.” Rubbing Ianto's back in comfort for a moment, Jack thought. “We could expand his duties to officially include tending to all the animals around the Hub. It might soften the blow a bit, and keep him out of trouble a while longer. Hey!” Jack snapped his fingers as an idea occurred to him. “We still have that sterilized tribble around the Hub, don't we?”

Ianto raised his eyebrows, apparently impressed by the thought. “It  _is_ just fluffy and cute enough to make up for the dog, don't you think?”

Jack shrugged. “Couldn't hurt.”

To Jack's surprise, Ianto leaned forward and dropped a kiss on his lips. “I've been meaning to ask Martha to resterilize it. I think it might be healing its reproductive system, somehow. Afterwards, she can give it to Gwil to look after.” Ianto smiled at Jack. “Thank you.”

Wrapping his arms around Ianto, Jack looked him in the eyes. “What for?”

“Backing me up. And coming up with a solution to the problem that kept everyone happy.”

Jack grinned. “Have I been a good boy?”

Ianto grinned back. There was that smile Jack had been trying to coax out all day. “ _Very_ good. Good enough to warrant a reward, later.”

Jack squirmed in Ianto's arms and tugged them both closer together. “Can it be the red lacy bra and panties? And those heels!” Jack growled lecherously. “I've missed those heels.”

“Ugk!”

Jumping out of each other's arms, Jack and Ianto turned to find Gwil standing in the hallway with the dog, horrified look on his face. “ _Dads_ ! Seriously!  _Gross_ !”

“Hey!” Jack waggled a finger at Gwil. “Give it another year. You'll see what all the fuss is about.”

“Another four years,” Ianto corrected Jack with a glare. “Six, maybe. No rush.”

Gwil just scrambled away from them and into the kitchen for his afternoon snack.

**

Jack watched as Martha passed Gwil his very own, brand new tribble. The little ball of fluff cooed and purred as Gwil ran his fingers over it. A grin lit up his face as he held the ball to his chest, cooing back softly. 

Jack turned to see Ianto watching him, and winked. Ianto smiled back from across the Hub. It seemed like after all these years, Jack had somehow managed to pick up  _some_ problem solving abilities.    
  
  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwil stumbles across something in the 1940s archives that lead to some unwelcome revelations.

Gwil's day hadn't exactly been going swimmingly. Stupid Laurel had turned him down when he had asked her out to the dance, and then her twin brother had been giving him hell all day. It wasn't like he had been _mean_. It wasn't like he had been _pressuring_ her to go with him or anything. He just asked, all politeness and flowers and decelerations of how pretty she was with her dark curly hair and light eyes, if she would go to the dance that Friday with him. And when she had turned him down, okay, he might have gotten _huffy_ , but he hadn't said anything mean to her. He hadn't insulted her or anything. And yet Robby had been pestering him all day, calling him names and suggesting that he stick to boys, like his dads did.

When he had gotten to the Hub, Gwil had been looking forward to talking to Uncle Mickey about the whole thing. And he had: for a little while. Uncle Mickey suggested that maybe Robby had a crush on  _him_ , which is why he had been so stupid over the whole thing. Gwil pointed out that Robby had some girlfriend – Victoria, maybe? – already, but Uncle Mickey didn't seem to think this was a great deal of evidence against his theory.

Just as they had been really getting into a good talk, however, the Rift alert went off and Uncle Mickey hadn't had time to do much more than slap Gwil on the back before he had raced out of the Hub, with Gwil's dads and Uncle Andy, leaving Gwil alone with Aunt Gwen and Aunt Martha. Seeing as both Aunts were busy – the former coordinating with the field team, the latter talking to someone from UNIT up in the tourist office – Gwil had trudged down to the Archives, bored and looking for something to do.

To top it all off, once he had gotten down there, Kirk (his pet tribble) had rolled away from him, out into some section of the Archives Gwil had yet to be allowed clearance to. So now Gwil stood just outside the 1940-1950 archives, staring in and calling out for his pet. “Kirk!” he hissed. “Kirk!”

A trill drifted out to him from inside the archives. Gwil cursed. Kirk was definitely  _in_ there. Glancing around, Gwil steeled himself. He wasn't going to look at anything, he wasn't going to touch anything. He just needed to get Kirk back. If his pet died, it would just round out his official worst day ever.

Gwil hurried through the 1940-1950 archives, doing his best to look straight ahead and only listen for Kirk. “Kirk!” Another trill from somewhere a couple rows over. Gwil hurried to the end of the row and made his way over. “Kirk!”

_Finally_ . Gwil breathed a sigh of relief. Kirk was perched atop a large box of files marked green on one of the lower shelves. Thank goodness: if it had been red, or even yellow, Gwil might have had to struggle with leaving Kirk there until he could get an adult. And by then the bloody tribble might have rolled off, somewhere else. 

“Come here,” Gwil murmured, lifting Kirk up and clutching him to his chest. “Don't wander off like that!” he scolded the little fluff ball. “You scared me!” Kirk just trilled in his palms.

Sighing, Gwil set Kirk in his usual place on his shoulder and was about to turn around, when something caught his eye. On the box Kirk had been resting on was the label _Torchwood Operative: Jack Harkness_. Gwil frowned. Someone must have misfiled Dad's file. Gwil crouched down and opened the box. It was weird to see something misfiled, especially since him and Tad had been working for _years_ to get absolutely _everything_ in the various Torchwood offices all combined and properly filed in one massive database. 

Unless there was another Jack Harkness? Dad's dad, maybe? Gwil frowned. But that wouldn't make sense: Dad was a part alien from a future world. His dad would be on Boeshane, not born for thousands more years. Slipping a file out, Gwil peered at it. It was definitely  _his_ dad, in what looked like a full RAF uniform from the 1940s. Gwil started to pull more files out, curious. Dad  _was_ a time traveler, and he  _had_ traveled around with the Doctor. He could have been in the 1940s and just not told Gwil that story yet. But then again, Dad's time with the Doctor was all before he worked with Torchwood, and his manipulator was broken. So how could he have been in the 1940s as a Torchwood operative?

One of the files caught Gwil's eye. It appeared to be an excruciatingly detailed timeline of some sort. Tugging the sheet out of the box, Gwil carefully unfolded the older paper until it was spread out on the floor. He stared.

It was labeled  _Captain Jack Harkness_ . And it wasn't an ordinary timeline. There were dates on the far left that were  _later_ than the dates more toward the middle of the timeline. Okay. Gwil thought. So it was Dad's timeline, in order for  _Dad_ , but out of order because he skipped around time. It stretched Gwil's brain a little, to try and sort it all, but he thought it made sense. 

Only... it was too much time.  _Way_ too much time. It started with the 1940s, with little notes about Dad being with the Doctor. Gwil knew that much. Then it skipped to the fifty-first century, to some place called “Satellite Five”. It seemed like Dad was still with the Doctor, then. And... something happened. Something curiously labeled as “ _Conception of Immortality_ ”. Gwil blinked. He  _could_ reason that the label meant something in the future, some sort of event that happened in the fifty-first century. But Gwil had a gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew  _exactly_ what  _Conception of Immortality_ meant.

As Gwil read further on the timeline, it jumped back to the eighteen hundreds. This was when Dad started being called a Torchwood operative. Uncontracted, apparently. Gwil supposed that meant “freelance”. And then there were records of Dad working for Torchwood... all the way up through the forties. For sixty years.

Gwil blinked. Dad had been thirty or forty when he left the Doctor (or rather, when the Doctor had left him). And then he spent at  _least_ sixty years with Torchwood. Gwil had a sneaking suspicion that Dad's history with Torchwood didn't end with Torchwood there and skip to present day, either. He was willing to bet that if he started scouring the Archives up until present day, his dad would be present in every decade.

Which made him around two hundred years old. At least.

Gwil stared unseeingly at the timeline, until anger blurred his vision. Dad didn't have some sort of super-healing ability. Dad didn't have lucky alien DNA or advanced genetics from the fifty-first century. Dad was flat out, completely and utterly,  _immortal_ .

Why would they keep something like this from him?! Angry, Gwil started shoving papers back into the box without his normal care for order and tidiness. It wasn't just his dads keeping this secret from him, either: Gwil wasn't so young that he couldn't figure that out. It had to be the whole Torchwood team. That time Dad had died from the pincer alien mom, Aunt Gwen had come down and knocked Gwil out so he didn't see any more. And Tad had been telling Aunt Tosh to get him away from the monitors before that. And then Uncle Owen had covered for him, too, then: pretending like he had “patched” Dad up, when really Dad was  _immortal_ . He didn't need any patching!

Gwil practically threw the box into the shelf, clutching Kirk to his shoulder as he raced out of the Archives. It was all  _lies_ ! They had all worked together to keep this big, huge, world-changing secret from Gwil for all this time. Like he couldn't handle it, or he was too young, or something.

As Gwil ran out of the Archives and up into the main Hub, he ignored Aunt Gwen's concern. Slapping the button for the invisible lift, Gwil waited impatiently as it took him to the surface. 

The more Gwil thought about it, the more implications began to sink in. Dad was immortal. He had lived for  _centuries_ before Tad and Gwil. Did that mean he had other husbands or wives? Other kids out there, who had already lived their whole lives and died, while Dad just kept on living? What did that mean for Tad? Did Dad really love him – love  _them_ ?  _Could_ he even love them, if he knew one day they were going to die, and he was going to keep on living?

Gwil raced across the Plass, hailing a cab when he got to the end of it. He couldn't wait for when he got his license. Then he wouldn't have to be stuck wherever his dads left him while they went off and saved the world. 

Gwil slammed the door to the cab and gave his address before sliding back in his seat. Kirk was tucked discreetly under his shirt.  _Urgk_ ! He gripped his hair tight as more thoughts raced through his head. If Dad was immortal – really, truly and forever immortal – then he'd live for thousands and millions more years. Did that mean one day he would forget them? Gwil couldn't remember stuff from when he was really little, and he certainly didn't remember all the names or faces of all the people he met. When people got old, they tended to forget even bigger things, like old school mates or girlfriends. One day, would that happen to Dad? He'd just forget about him and Tad, as he swanned off across the universe, finding new people to trick into being his family, just so he could forget about them in a few years' time. 

And then if Dad couldn't die, then why would he ever put anyone in danger besides himself? Gwil's mind thought back to the time Tad was really badly hurt, by that weevil that had left him with a permanent stiffness in his left arm. Or all the dozens of times other members of Torchwood had a narrow escape – or not, if Gwil thought about all the people who died because of Torchwood before he had come. Dad had just _let_ them die, then. 

It made all Tad's worrying about the “dangers of Torchwood” seem so  _ridiculous_ . He was married to a man who couldn't die! Why the hell would Dad ever  _let_ anyone die, if he couldn't? He could jump in front of the bullet every time, or in front of the claws, or laser blast, or whatever. There was no reason for him to even have anyone else be on field work, really. He could just get hit and injured and shot and stabbed and blown up and  _everything_ , and just keep going. He was practically a murderer, making other people go out and risk their lives when he himself had plenty of life to go around.

As Gwil paid the cabby and stormed off into his house, he officially decided that his earlier assessment of how his day had been going was accurate. This was definitely the worst day ever. This was the day he found out Dad wasn't a big damn hero after all: he was just an immortal jerk, a coward sending other people off to their death when he could save them all.   
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Ianto enjoy a quiet evening in together. Afterwards, Jack voices some concerns he has about Gwil's recent attitude change.

As Ianto brushed his teeth for the night, Jack wandered into their bathroom, slipping his braces over his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. Ianto watched him in the mirror and appreciated the view as first Jack's vest was revealed, then his chest as he tugged that off over his head. When Jack caught him looking he smirked and strode forward, wrapping his arms around Ianto from behind.

After spitting and rinsing, Ianto turned into Jack and let himself be drawn into a kiss.

“Mm,” Jack hummed as they pulled away. “Minty.” Glancing down at Ianto's pajama trousers, Jack started to slide his hands down Ianto's back. “Though I'm not so much a fan of these...”

Ianto sighed happily as Jack's hands slid under the silk trousers and cupped his arse firmly. The two men pressed closer together, penises starting to take notice of their slow movements. “You were the one who picked these out,” Ianto reminded him.

Jack grinned as Ianto started to push him back into their bedroom. Their legs slid against each other as their steps fell in sync: Ianto pushing Jack's back with even movements as they approached the bed. “I do like the silk,” Jack mused, hands still massaging Ianto's arse. Ianto hummed and melted just that much more into Jack's embrace. But that _did_ feel just fantastic. “Right now I'm interested in something even more erotic then silk,” Jack continued.

They kissed as Ianto pushed Jack onto the bed and climbed on top, pajama trousers getting pushed off in the process. If he lived a thousand more years, Ianto never imagined he'd be able to sort exactly how Jack managed to divest him of clothing so quickly. “ _More_ erotic than silk?” Ianto teased between kisses, hands sliding between their bodies to set to work on Jack's trousers. “Is there such a thing?”

Jack pushed up into Ianto's hand as it slipped beneath the cotton material of his trousers, low moan catching in his throat. “Oh yeah,” he grinned, staring up at Ianto. “The guy I'm thinking of is more erotic than anything else I can imagine right now.”

Ianto quirked an eyebrow as he helped Jack push his trousers down and off the bed. “Really?” he wondered. “Is that so?”

Bringing his arms up to wrap loosely around Ianto's neck, Jack grinned broadly. “That's so,” he confirmed. Then he was laughing as Ianto growled and laid claim to his mouth, tongue plundering the warm, wet depths as their bodies began to move more urgently against each other.

“Did you lock the door, Captain Cheese?” Ianto asked.

Jack pouted up at him at Mickey's favorite epithet, but nodded. “No interruptions.”

Ianto hummed, erection growing more insistent as it slid heavy and hot against Jack's. “Then come here,” he whispered, before pulling himself up to the pillows. 

Jack's response was instantaneous as he joined Ianto at the head of the bed, reaching for the lube in their nightstand. Ianto watched as Jack uncapped the bottle and reached behind himself, eyes fluttering shut as he began to prepare himself. Reaching down between his own legs, Ianto tugged at his balls, then rolled them in his hand as he watched. Jack could be pure erotic art like this: erection hard and proud between his legs, fingers working inside of himself, head thrown back and neck laid bare as he focused on stretching himself wide.

“Jack,” Ianto finally groaned, when watching became not enough. 

With a cheeky grin, Jack extracted his fingers from himself and crawled up into Ianto's lap. “Comfortable like this?” he asked.

Ianto looked back at the mound of pillows he was currently supported by, then up at Jack straddling his thighs. “Couldn't be more so,” he replied.

Matching groans filled the room as Jack sank down onto Ianto's lap, impaling himself on his partner's hard length. Ianto's fingers skittered across Jack's thighs and arse, before finally coming to rest on his hips. As Jack began to move, more rocking than thrusting or lifting just yet, he smiled, eyes somewhere over Ianto's shoulder. “You could be,” he mused, gaze returning to meet Ianto's. “More comfortable,” he explained. “Zero G. You have to get used to the physics of it all, and the judicious use of velcro, but once you do,” Jack laughed. “Oh yeah. Talk about comfort.”

Resting his head back on the pillows, Ianto let himself enjoy the sensation of Jack's hips slowly rocking onto him for a moment before replying. “Sounds a touch adventurous for my tastes,” he mused. “And what about nausea?”

Jack laughed as he shifted, bringing his legs under himself so he could get better leverage. A grunt escaped Ianto's throat as Jack used his new position to thrust down harder onto him, bodies sliding together hot and wet. “Well, if you're into that sort of thing...” Jack teased. Ianto wrinkled his nose, which Jack promptly leaned forward and pressed a kiss to. “But you get over it first couple hours. Maybe days, if you're really bad off. After that... yeah.”

Removing one of his hands from Jack's hip, Ianto used it to grip the back of Jack's neck and drag him down into a less chaste kiss. Jack's groan into his mouth spurred Ianto on, encouraging him to press his hips up harder against Jack, trying to drive himself deeper inside. Jack responded to the increase in passion by matching it himself, strong thighs moving himself on top of Ianto at an ever-increasing pace.

“Mm, Jack,” Ianto moaned, releasing Jack's lips when breathing became more of an issue. His hand tightened around the back of Jack's neck, squeezing lightly. Jack's head hung down in submission, gaze unfocused on Ianto's chest. 

Jack's body tightened some around Ianto and he groaned, hips driving down harder.

“There?” Ianto confirmed, though he hardly needed to at this point.

“ _There_ ,” Jack groaned. His hand slipped up, over Ianto's shoulder as he held on. “There, yeah, right there...”

Ianto pushed his hips as hard as he could from his position, eyes trained on Jack's partially-obscured face. “I've got you,” he murmured. He continued to push up into Jack, observing the way his stomach started to twitch and back tensed up. “Here,” Ianto whispered, removing his remaining hand on Jack's hip and moving it between them. 

Jack groaned, hand squeezing Ianto's shoulder several times as he approached the brink. He came with a contented moan, spilling over into Ianto's hand as Jack's body tightened around him. 

Ianto pressed up into Jack with renewed vigor, able to focus on his own release, now. Only a minute more of thrusting found him teetering on the edge. Jack's arms draped loosely over his neck as he shifted closer, pressing his lips to Ianto's neck in gentle encouragement. “Almost?” Jack murmured into the skin there. 

Ianto nodded, hips still moving up against Jack. When he came he grunted, fingers squeezing into Jack as he rode out his orgasm. Jack stayed plastered to his neck the whole time, lips tracing soft patterns against his skin.

They separated reluctantly, Jack flopping backwards onto the bed, Ianto sliding down against the pillows as he basked in the afterglow of his orgasm. “Mm,” he hummed, trailing a hand down his stomach.

Jack's head popped up from where he was lying on the bed, observing Ianto with a grin. “Good?”

Reaching behind his head, Ianto found a small throw pillow and tossed it at Jack. It ended up rolling against Jack's side and coming to rest, rather than doing much damage. “You're well aware of how good it was. You were there.”

Grinning, Jack crawled up the bed and onto Ianto's chest. “Always want to make sure,” he teased.

As they settled back against the pillows together, still catching their breaths, Ianto felt Jack's mood change. He waited, as patient as he always was, for Jack to give voice to whatever was troubling him.

“Do you think Gwil's... mad at me, for something?”

Propping himself up on one elbow, Ianto turned on his side to peer down at Jack. “What do you mean?”

Jack sighed, hands loosely clasped on his stomach as he stared up at the ceiling. “Not sure. Last few weeks he's seem... grumpier? Grouchier? Like he's pissed off at me.”

Shifting forward, Ianto rested his chin on Jack's chest and looked up at him. “Are you sure you're not imagining things?”

“No,” Jack mused. “I might be. But he's acting different, too. He won't let me ruffle his hair anymore. And he doesn't say thank you when I give him lunch, but he does when you do.”

Ianto barely managed to stifle a laugh, instead settling on just quirking an eyebrow at Jack. “I thought I was the one supposed to be bothered as he got older. He spends twenty minutes fixing his hair in the morning, and he doesn't want you to mess it up. As for the lunch: I'll just have to make sure I stay on him about his manners. It's all just normal growing up, as I recall.”

Jack hummed noncommittally as he reached to take one of Ianto's hands in his. “I can't shake the feeling he's mad at me for something.”

Gripping Jack's hand tightly back, Ianto brought it up to his lips. “I'm sure you're just imagining things,” he reassured Jack, before pressing a kiss to the back of his hand. A skeptical look remained fixed on Jack's face, so Ianto let the issue drop as he slung a leg over Jack's, positioning himself more comfortably for sleep. Gwil was obviously just going through some sort of phase: getting more defiant, wanting to play the hero, wanting to show off for his friends at school. It was all childhood silliness he'd soon outgrow. And personally, Ianto was more worried about making sure Gwil _made_ it to adulthood than he was a temporary row between him and his Dad.  
  
  


 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds an unexpected – but not unwelcome – guest turn up at Gwil's fifteenth birthday party. It all goes surprisingly well.

Jack's breath caught in his throat as he watched Ianto answer their front door and speak amicably with the young woman on the other side. Not a young woman, anymore: Alice was closer to middle age than she was to being a young woman, now. But in Jack's mind she'd always be that bright, fierce little girl; that defiant teenager who was frustrated and blaming everyone around her for her confusing life.

“Alice,” he croaked.

Cautiously Alice stepped inside, gaze still veiled with years of bitterness and hurt. Steven followed behind her. Jack grinned. The boy was getting so _tall_. Jack was so proud.

“Jack.” Alice's voice was terse, her eyes flickering to where Gwil was sat in front of the telly, playing video games with his friends.

In an instant Ianto was at Jack's side, expression unreadable. “I'm not sure we can introduce her as your sister,” he cautioned. Turning to Alice, he continued: “Gwil knows about Boeshane and time traveling, but we have yet to inform him about your father's other... abilities.”

Alice snorted as she crossed her arms over her chest. Steven was making his way to where Gwil and his friends were, introducing himself. When Gwil turned to check back with his dads, Ianto just nodded his encouragement. Jack didn't miss the way Gwil's eyes narrowed and stayed on him for a long second before he turned back to Steven and invited him to join them. 

“So if I said we were siblings...” Alice started.

“It would lead to some awkward questions,” Ianto finished for her. His gaze flickered over to Jack for a moment, a mix between apologetic and prodding. Jack returned the look stoically. Gwil didn't need to know. Not yet. Ianto continued: “I believe it might be best to just introduce you as an old friend of Jack's. He knows something of Torchwood London's history, and since that's where you live now-”

“-you'll let him draw his own conclusions,” Alice finished for Ianto, who smiled drily.

“Precisely.”

Jack found himself feeling the odd man out in this conversation between his husband and daughter. It was bizarre. But then again, nothing about this conversation was normal. “Alice-” Jack started again, only to find himself interrupted by Gwil stepping over.

“Hello,” he said, sticking out a hand to Alice. “I'm Gwil.” He waited, looking first at Alice then at Ianto for an introduction.

Alice, to her credit, shook Gwil's hand with an almost-genuine smile. “Alice,” she replied. “I'm one of Jack's old friends, from London.”

Jack felt a shiver go through him at Gwil's too-intelligent appraisal of Alice. “From London,” he repeated slowly. “A _friend_?”

Next to Jack, Ianto snorted. Alice rolled her eyes and released Gwil's hand. “Yes,” she replied curtly. “Just a friend.” All politeness gone, she dug into her purse and extracted what appeared to be a hastily wrapped present. Shoving at Gwil, she crossed her arms again. “Happy birthday,” she grumbled.

A “thank you” slipped from Gwil's mouth automatically, even as he continued to look between the adults for some sort of more forth-coming explanation. When none was offered, Gwil took his present and made his escape back to his friends and video games. He did manage to shoot one more accusing look over his shoulder at Jack.

“He knows something,” Jack grumbled.

“He knows a lot,” Ianto countered, “but not that. Coffee?” The question was directed at Alice, who was still standing in their hallway, clutching her purse like she still might change her mind and make her escape from this madhouse at any second.

After just a moment's hesitation, Alice nodded. “Sure.”

Jack followed them into a kitchen, still feeling like he had missed out on some father-stepdaughter bonding that had taken place behind his back between Alice and Ianto. “Jack tells me you lived in Italy,” Ianto was saying as he set about putting a cup together for Alice. “I'm not sure how my roast will compare to what you're used to, but Jack assures me it's the best coffee available on the isles.”

Sliding into his seat at the kitchen table, Jack smiled up at Ianto. “No: I assured him it's the best coffee in the  _galaxy_ , but he just refuses to believe me.”

“Well you always were a flatterer, Dad,” Alice grumbled. A moment later Ianto set a cup of coffee down in front of her, and she smiled up politely. “Thanks.”

A cup of coffee appeared in front of Jack as well before Ianto sat down, one eye on the boys playing in the living room and the other on Jack and Alice. “Boy's getting big,” Alice observed.

“So's Steven.” Jack turned to watch Steven play with the other boys for a moment before turning back to Alice. “How's he doing? School? Girls? Boys? Is he going to university?”

Alice nodded. “He's taking his GCSE's end of this year. I expect he'll do fine. After that it's A-levels and uni. He's smart: not Oxford or Cambridge smart, but smart enough to get in somewhere good. Right now he wants to study art, but...” she grimaced. “That'll change. I can only hope.”

Ianto chuckled and nibbled on a piece of cheese. “I understand the sentiment,” he mused. “Though sometime, there's no stopping them.”

Alice looked searchingly at Jack. “What's your boy up to, then?”

Before Jack could answer, Ianto cut in. “He's going to uni. It's something we're requiring he do.”

Jack sighed and slipped a hand over Ianto's thigh under the table. “He wants to join Torchwood,” he explained to Alice.

Slowly Alice set her coffee cup down, eyes darting back and forth between Jack and Ianto. Her mouth opened in understanding as she sat back in her chair. “Ah,” she said. Her gaze finally focused on Ianto. “Trying to discourage it,” she observed.

Ianto grimaced. “At this point it appears the best we can do is  _ delay _ him as long as possible. Hopefully long enough for him to grow into some sense and decide to do something more...”

“Safe.” Alice finished for him.

“I was going to say 'fulfilling', but, yes,” Ianto admitted. “You know its dangers,” he whispered. “Know what it's like. Imagine having Steven chomping at the bit, hardly able to wait to join.”

“I couldn't imagine,” Alice replied honestly. “I've spent my entire life making sure Steven never had Torchwood around to ruin his life. But with you two as Gwil's dads...”

Jack cut in, frowning. “Torchwood had already affected Gwil before we ever even met him: the Rift deposited him on our doorstep.”

“Alleyway,” Ianto corrected.

“There wasn't much use hiding it from him, since he experienced it first hand,” Jack continued. “Now that he's interested, the best we can do is delay, like Ianto said. And make sure he's safe.”

Alice leaned forward across the table, pushing her coffee mug aside. “But he can never 'be safe',” she warned, eyes like steel as she looked between the two men. Her gaze settled on Ianto, and Jack understood why. It was Ianto who was more scared, Ianto who had more to lose if Gwil ever got hurt or died. Ianto might not ever have to live to see the day Gwil died – whether it was tomorrow or a century from now, Jack knew he himself  _ would _ see that day.

Alice continued to talk, directing her words at Ianto. “You know what Torchwood's like. You know how unpredictable.” She nodded at Ianto's left shoulder. “You've experienced its dangers yourself.”

“We're trying to make it safer,” Ianto replied. “With the way Gwil and the other Torchwood offices are helping me organize the Archives, we can access more data more efficiently than ever before. When we finish it in a year or so, there will be next to nothing the universe can throw at us that we're not prepared for. And if there is, Jack's been building up the teams.” Ianto turned his gaze to Jack for a moment, and Jack smiled, squeezing his thigh again. “More people, better trained, working better together than ever. Touch wood, but we haven't experienced a death at the Cardiff office for a decade. It's safer to work for Torchwood now than ever before.”

Alice looked unimpressed. Jack couldn't blame her. There were directors of Torchwood – which Ianto was effectively acting as, at this point in his career – that had thought and said the same things Ianto was saying today. Jack had witnessed these men and women crumble under the weight of their hubris, Torchwood slinging a wrench in the works when they least expected it.

But it wasn't hubris, with Ianto. If there was one man who could shoulder the weight of Torchwood without it going to his head (besides Jack himself, maybe), it was Ianto. Nothing he did was for his own edification, but to make sure Torchwood was doing the right thing in the safest, surest way possible. If Jack didn't know Ianto would turn him down outright, Jack would offer to promote him to head of Torchwood. But what made him the best leader out there also made Ianto the last person to want the job.

“It really is a different institution,” Jack confirmed, looking at Alice. “I've seen Torchwoods rise and fall. I've seen heads who only _thought_ they were doing what Ianto has _actually_ done. It's not safe,” he agreed, when Alice was shaking her head in disbelief. “It'll never be safe. That's the nature of the job: keeping people safe puts us in danger. But hopefully, with the way Ianto's doing things,” Jack glanced over at Ianto and gave his leg another rub, “we can reduce the risks. Make it more like being a police officer.”

Ianto snorted. “Maybe if bobbies worked at CERN with a dash of MI6 throw in.”

Laughing, Jack wrapped his arm around Ianto's shoulder and drew him in for a kiss to his hair. “Ianto's always wanted to be James Bond,” he explained to Alice. She cracked her first grin of the evening at that.

“Oh, for- _Dads_! It's my _birthday_!” Gwil's exasperated moan from the kitchen entrance caused Jack and Ianto to turn to him, but definitely wasn't reason enough for Jack to drop his arm from around Ianto's shoulders.

“What?” Jack affected innocence. “But this is how you were _made_ ,” he teased, before gripping Ianto's chin and turning him into a messy, wet kiss. Ianto went along with the ruse between spurts of chuckling laughter escaping his throat.

“Oh my _God_ , _really_?!” Out of one eye Jack could see Gwil gesturing desperately to his friends, who were a mixture of reactions: from catcalls and nods of approval to similar wrinkled noses and good-natured disgust to what Gwil was sporting. “Guys! Back to the games! Come on, we can play with the lightsaber controllers until they're done.”

Jack laughed as one of Gwil's friends shouted out: “No cake is worth  _ that _ !” 

Another one – with some pretty fantastic bright-blue hair, Jack noted – hung back, grinning lewdly as he hung on the kitchen doorframe. “Oi: you two got any friends?” He winked rakishly, causing Ianto to groan and bury his face in his hands. 

“Out, Aaron!”

“I'm just saying...” Aaron started.

“Out!”

Jack laughed as the boy blew them a kiss and dashed out after Gwil and the others. Jack threw a thumb over his shoulder after him as he turned to Ianto. “Who was that?” he asked.

Ianto rolled his eyes and snatched up a sprig of grapes from the finger-food tray. “Aaron. One of Gwil's friends. Gwil informs he Aaron has declared himself a 'tri-sexual'. Fan of the glam rock, I'm afraid.”

Jack beamed as he glanced back into the living room after the boys. “I like him!” Jack declared. “Good to know Gwil's got good taste in friends.”

Alice shook her head and snorted into her coffee cup. She muttered something that sounded like “You would,” but there was a smile on her lips so Jack didn't overly concern himself with it. 

Standing, Ianto nodded at Alice. “Help me serve the cake?” he asked. “Jack's rather helpless when it comes to cutting  _ reasonably _ sized pieces, I'm afraid.”

As Alice stood and followed Ianto to the fridge she nodded knowingly. “I remember it well. Mind you, when I was a kid it made for the best birthdays. And the worst post-birthday tummy aches.” As Ianto transferred the cake from fridge to kitchen table, Alice picked up a pile of plates and forks from the kitchen counter and brought them over. They started pressing candles into the cake almost in tandem as Jack watched. “That really was great coffee, by the way,” Alice complimented Ianto as she moved her cup to the sink. “For once I might have to agree with my dad. Though my judgement can only extend as far as the Earth, I'm afraid.”

Ianto nodded in understanding, lips quirking into a wry smile. “It'll have to do,” he agreed.

As Ianto called the boys in for cake and Alice stepped back to make way for the stampede of fifteen-year-olds, Jack found he couldn't stop smiling. He met Ianto's eyes just before Ianto bent over to light the candles, and they smiled at each other.  _ Thank you _ , Jack mouthed. Ianto only shrugged modestly – as if he hadn't just done the impossible in bringing Alice and Steven here, all for Jack.    
  
  


 


End file.
